Marvin's Room
by xAnima-Bellax
Summary: Stiles dials his ex one night in the midst of a drunken haze. It doesn't go as he planned. Rated M for language and possible chapters to be added on.


I am completely infatuated with JoJo's version of Marvin's Room. I know it's not new, but I never got the chance to write it out in a song fic. Anyhow, this is the result of too much time and not enough friends.

BTW, have any of you guys read 50 Shades of Crap? I did… well I read some of it. I didn't think that it was as good as it was portrayed at all and overall, I found it to be a huge waste of time.

I'm usually very understanding of different writing styles, just because as a writer, my biggest goal is to be taken seriously so I never throw shade at another person's work.

But I found it to be plot-less porn riddled with far too few interesting moments. It was all mediocre at best and I was just wondering if I'm the only one who thinks that anyone who bought the book should be entitled to a refund and a gallon of brain bleach.

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**Marvin's Room.**

The lights were too bright outside… that was the first thought that Stiles had as he stumbled out of the club. _Sweat_ was crowded tonight, filled with guys looking for a quick fuck and a few girls hoping to change some confused guy's mind, but Stiles found it boring and bailed after an hour or so. The air was crisp and it was a little windier than he liked, but tonight he found little reason to complain. _Sweat_ had its name for a damn good reason and Stiles _had_ sweated for the short time he stayed.

He checked his phone for the time, watched the digital numbers change to 2:38 and hummed in thought. It was still relatively early for a Friday night, even more so for a Friday night in New York, but he didn't have the energy nor the interest in finding another club. Plus he was pretty hammered as he was. He swayed slightly, mentally weighing out the options of catching a cab or walking. He only lived a short walk from _Sweat_, maybe a block or two – he couldn't remember – and it seemed like a waste of precious money to take a cab.

He set out towards his apartment, humming along to a random song in his head and giggling madly when a group of men got a little too close to him. He'd found that seeming crazy was a good way to ward off potential danger. The men eyed him wearily before edging around him and continuing in their direction. Stiles didn't look back, didn't want to chance invoking their interest – he may have been drunk, but he was still the son of a damn good sheriff.

He reached his apartment building quickly enough, the coldness seeping into his jacket aiding him in picking up the pace when he slowed down. The elevator was busted again and he groaned in laziness when he started the ascend up to the 7th floor. He had to stop and rest on the 5th floor and he eyed a pretty brunette as she sat a stack of newspapers outside her door. She looked back at him with a cautious uneasiness and hurried back inside when Stiles wiggled his eyebrows at her. Stiles snorted in amusement and called after her.

"Honey, you don't have the equipment I like."

He didn't get a reply back and started his climb again. He reached his apartment a lot later than he would have liked, fumbled with the key, pushed the door open and let it slam shut again. He didn't bother with the deadbolt, just connect the chain and started towards his room. He stripped out of his coat and shoes, his socks and shirt following behind. It was hot, hotter than he liked it, and he fiddled with the thermometer. When the heat didn't go off he grunted in frustration. The thermostat was busted again, but he was 2 weeks behind on his rent so he didn't bother phoning the landlord – not that Finstock would have answered at this time anyway. He shrugged and went into the kitchen. He rummaged through the cabinets until he found what he was looking for.

Danny had a general rule that Stiles wouldn't drink – the occasional club or bar night excluded – if he wanted to continue to be roommates. Stiles obeyed for the most part, but he kept a supply hidden behind the cans of tuna knowing that Danny wouldn't go near the fish. He shoved the canned meat aside, reached behind the cans of tomato paste and grabbed the clear bottle. He didn't bother arranging the cabinet's contents back; Danny wouldn't notice them anyway.

He eyed the water bottle curiously, trying to remember what he'd replaced the water with. He opened the cap and took a hearty swig, grimacing when it trailed fire down his throat. Whatever it was, it was strong – stronger than he usually went for. He wondered lazily where he'd gotten it, shrugged it off and went back to the living room, bottle firmly in hand. He downed a good portion of it, growled through the fire and smirked in victory when the worse of it was over.

He plopped down on the couch, wincing when it creaked and unlocked his phone. He'd abandoned Danny at Sweat – not that the he would have noticed, or possibly even cared because he was grinding on a redhead at the time – and he didn't want his roommate hanging around looking for him. He scrolled down his contact list to the Ds until he reached Danny's. He was about to tap the name when another caught his eye.

Derek.

He hadn't talked to him in almost two months, wasn't even sure why he still had his number in his phone. That was a lie. He knew why Derek's name was still there, sitting idly under Danny's. He was still so pathetically in love with the older male that he could never throw his name out, even though he knew the number by heart. Every time he came across it, he'd stall and let his fingers hover over the name while mentally remembering greater times. Those moments never lasted more than a few seconds before he got over it and went about his business. But now, tonight… Normally he wouldn't have entertained the thought of calling Derek but his judgment was off.

He'd been up for three days, splurging on Adderall and redbull. His brain wasn't functioning with its normal common sense. But if he was being honest, this was all Derek's fault…well Derek and whatever was in the water bottle. He was never like this, drunk and hyped up on drugs, when they were together. Derek helped him work through his shit, helped him realize that fun didn't have to come in the form of prescription pills and Ciroc. But Derek wasn't there anymore; he'd left him. And for what, the pretty blonde girl that Scott had told him about? He tapped Derek's name and put the phone to his ear and downed another mouth full of the vodka.

The ringing startled him and he had a brief moment of clarity that told him that he shouldn't be doing this. And it was late, a little after 3 now. Derek was never one for the night life and he'd probably be sleeping. Stiles had all but convinced himself that this was a horrible idea and was about to hang up when Derek's deep voice answered.

Stiles' breath hitched when he heard him. He'd been sleeping; the low, rough, borderline growl in his voice was enough to tell Stiles that. Stiles had loved that voice, had woken him up in the middle of the night to hear it. Those nights had always ended with Stiles getting fucked into the mattress while Derek whispered filthy things to him. But there was another person getting that privilege now and it fueled Stiles undeserved anger.

_This call is a mistake Stiles_, his conscious told him.

"Hello," Derek repeated. "Who is this?"

That pissed Stiles off, the fact that Derek didn't know him, hadn't kept his number saved in his phone, and all thoughts of hanging up left him.

"You don't remember me, Derek?" Stiles asked, falling back on the couch.

"Stiles?" Derek asked, confusion riddling his voice. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just peachy, Derek. How are you?" Stiles asked sarcastically. "I hear you've got a new chick."

"Stiles…" Derek started. Stiles interrupted him.

"A dancing little Barbie doll. You always did like those types…serves me right for dating a bisexual guy in the first place."

"Stiles, what's this about?" Derek asked tiredly.

"Didn't you know? It's about us, about how you made me out to be a fool," Stiles explained. His heart was pounding in his chest and he gulped down another mouthful of liquid courage.

"I made you out to be a fool? Stiles, I think we both know who did what. I couldn't deal with it anymore. The drinking, the parties, the pills…the lies." Derek whispered the last part and Stiles laughed humorlessly.

"I never lied to you Derek. I always kept things real with you, even when I knew you'd judge me. And you did judge me. You and your uptight, rich friends; you all had a good laugh about how stupid I was. I feel so pathetic."

"Stiles," Derek sighed.

"Just shut up for a second, okay. You still haven't heard it all. You made me want to do better Derek. You made me want to change. And I did try, but it was never enough for you. You wanted perfect."

"I never wanted you to be perfect," Derek hissed. He was talking in low tones and Stiles snorted when he realized that he was trying not to wake his blonde slut.

"You have someone there with you? Is it the blonde, the model?"

He could hear Derek getting up and imagined him padding softly across the hard wood floors and to the carpeted area in the living room. He felt stupid for still being able to remember the layout of Derek's loft. "That's none of your business Stiles."

"Fuck her," Stiles mumbled.

"Fuck who Stiles? Me?" Derek asked.

"Fuck that new girl that you like so bad. What's she got that I don't?" It was a cliché question, but Stiles didn't care.

"Maybe I like her because she's not crazy like…" Derek trailed off and Stiles snorted.

"She's not crazy like me? Ha, I bet you like that."

"Stiles," Derek sighed again. Stiles didn't want to hear it, whatever Derek was going to say that would no doubt make him out to be stupid.

"Fuck that new girl that's in your bed," Stiles continued.

"You don't even know her!" Derek hissed.

"I don't need to know her to know that she's not what you need. And when you're in her, I know I'm in your head," Stiles whispered smugly. He downed the rest of the vodka and grunted at the last bit of it burned.

"Are you drunk right now?" Derek asked slowly.

"I'm just saying you can't do better," Stiles replied nonchalantly.

"Better than what Stiles? The drugs and alcohol?" Derek asked sarcastically.

"Right, because your friends think I always turned you out every time we were together."

"You know I didn't mean that," Derek whispered. "I'm just trying to understand you."

"What's to understand? Once you've had the best you can't do better. And baby, I'm the best so you can't do better." Stiles was sure he wasn't making much sense, but he didn't really care.

"Goodnight Stiles,"

Stiles panicked at that. He wasn't finished with this. He still had more to say and he needed to do it while he still had Derek on the phone. He didn't put it pass Derek to block his number and he didn't want to end up at Derek's place like a stalker.

"I ran into your homeboys," Stiles blurted.

"You did?" Derek asked curiously. Stiles didn't tend to hang out at the places that they frequented so it was a bit of a surprise to hear that he'd seen them anywhere.

"They're all fucking idiots," Stiles snorted.

"So I've heard from you several times," Derek sighed. His voice sounded bored, but he hadn't hung up yet so Stiles decided to take what he could get.

"You're not even my boyfriend, but they're tripping cause I was at the club," Stiles drawled lazily.

"The club? Which one, _Sweat_?" Derek asked. Stiles grinned in victory when that got Derek's attention.

"Yeah, that's right. I was dancing and something cool was in my cup. You jealous?" Stiles asked cheekily.

"I don't do clubs Stiles. There's nothing to be jealous about." Derek had always been a bit self-righteous when it came to parties and having a good time. Stiles blamed his upbringing, but maybe it was just Derek period.

"You keep saying that. I'ma send a sexy picture to remind you what you've given up." Stiles played with the idea of sending a nude shot. Derek always did like those, especially when he sent them during times that Derek was busy or surrounded by his friends. He'd never reply back to Stiles, he'd just pop up and have his way with Stiles…not that Stiles ever complained. They'd always had the best sex.

"Stiles, don't. I have someone else now," Derek replied. Derek was giving that sex to someone else. Erica, Stiles' mind supplied. Even her name was mediocre.

"Fuck that new girl that you like so bad. She's not crazy like me, I bet you like that."

"You've already said that," Derek reminded. His voice was changing again and Stiles knew he didn't have long before he hung up.

"No, I said fuck that new girl that's been in your bed, and when you're in her, I know I'm in your head."

"You're drunk," Derek sighed tiredly.

"No I'm not. I'm just saying you can't do better. Remember all the sexy times we shared? I always turned you out every time we were together."

"Those times are over Stiles," Derek reminded him. At least they were to Derek. They'd never be over to Stiles.

_You sound like a crazy stalker_, Stiles thought to himself. Maybe he was, that didn't bother him nearly as much as it probably should.

"Once you've had the best, you can't do better. Baby I'm the best so you can't do better." It was quiet for a while and if it wasn't for Derek's breathing, Stiles would have thought he'd hung up.

"I know that Stiles. But that doesn't mean I can't try right?" Derek replied after a while. He hung up before Stiles could say anything else.

"Right," Stiles whispered to himself. He couldn't make himself get up so he decided to just lay on the couch for a while and remember what he'd lost. He wanted to dream of happier times, but when he did fall asleep all he got was darkness.

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So what do you guys think? I like the way it came out, but I'm not crazy about the dialect. It's also a little shorter than anything I'd usually publish. I usually type out about 10 to 11 pages on average but this just barely made it to six. Oh well.

I meant for this to only be an one-shot, but I'd love to follow along with this story to create an actual fiction. What do you guys think I should do?

Review and don't sugarcoat it.


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